


Sweetly Stinging

by Megan



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Brainwashing, Cock & Ball Torture, Come Swallowing, Double Penetration in Two Holes, Egg Laying, Forced Deepthroat, Forced Orgasm, Implied Underage, Loss of Virginity, Male Lactation, Mindbreak, Monster Come Addiction, Mpreg, Nipple Torture, Other, Oviposition, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacle Rape, Testicle Inflation, unwanted arousal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 15:01:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11382615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megan/pseuds/Megan
Summary: A thief thinks he's made the discovery of a lifetime. He has-- just not the lifetime he'd imagined for himself.





	Sweetly Stinging

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dresca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dresca/gifts).



Jay slipped through the door-- rusted in place, but open far enough for him to wriggle inside-- with no one on the other side of the wall any the wiser. For a place that was supposed to be so dangerous that commoners weren't allowed anywhere near the perimeter, the Old City sure had a lot of entrances.

It wasn't that he didn't believe nothing was wrong in there. There had to be a good reason for everyone to pack up and leave what looked like a perfectly good quarter of the city. Rich people didn't just give things up like that; they'd have stuck it out, held on to what they had, unless things were awfully dire at some point.

But it's not like people didn't live right up against the other side of the wall. There was a market there, for the gods' sake. The Old City had been abandoned so long ago that nobody remembered ever having gone there, not even Wren's great-great-grandmother. And she was older than the guildmaster, so old that she remembered when the last King had been overthrown. Whatever had happened there had been so long ago that everything there had to be dead.

If the Old City held anything worse than the abandoned possessions of wealthy, dead mages, no one would bother with a guard patrol.

Getting past the guards was easy enough, and now that he was there Jay could pick a building and keep going. He had all the time in the world to something that would impress the guild enough to make him a journeyman.

The first few he saw were obvious busts: broken windows everywhere. That made sense; over a hundred years of easy pickings would have been gone already.

Even the newest apprentice could have navigated these streets-- narrow, sure, but not any worse than neighborhoods where everyone with anything worth stealing lived. Jay had learned to dart through those alleyways and jump from those rooftops as soon as he could walk. The further in he went the less broken glass littered the ground, and by the time he reached what looked like a row of shops, everything sat mostly intact.

Except for the damage that obviously wasn't from thieves, but Jay stepped around the smashed cobblestones and scorched bones. It had been so long ago that nothing was still here. Whatever the mages had done to cause it, it was gone.

In the end, there was one door that looked more promising than the others. He couldn't read the sign over it-- of course the mages of the Old City had hung signs written in arcane script that even an educated commoner couldn't read. The more he saw of what they'd left behind, the more firmly Jay was of the opinion that they'd deserved whatever had happened to them. But the windows were whole and the door unopened, and that the important thing.

A lockpick made short work of the door, the tumblers undamaged. It wasn't even locked with magic, or any magical protection had worn off long ago without a mage to maintain it. The door opened with nothing more than a gentle push, stirring up a cloud of dust.

Once that settled down enough he could breathe without coughing, Jay stepped inside.

This looked like a bookstore, which was as good a find as he could have expected for his first try. Even if he couldn't read them, there had to be someone higher up in the guild who could. Or who had a connection to someone who would pay a lot of money for banned magical texts.

His mistake was getting so distracted by the take that he didn't secure the door. It slammed closed behind him. 

That was all right; he could open it again and prop it with a piece of the furniture this time--

Something wrapped around his arm before he could so much as turn around, something warm and slick and unsettlingly smooth until it wasn't. Smooth, that was; it was still too warm and dripping something slippery all over his skin, but then it turned over and there were suckers like an octopus. 

Jay knew what an octopus felt like. He'd touched one once, while he'd been watching a teacher shake down a fishmonger who hadn't paid his protection money on time. Whatever this was, it felt like that-- and nothing that big or that warm should have felt like that.

His shriek echoed off the walls, and he was so very glad that no one was here to hear him give his position away like that. Forget the books; knowing the location of this building was enough. He could tell someone willing to fight some remnant of a mage-monster, tell them about the cache of books no one had disturbed in over a century. The trip would still be worthwhile, they might still make him a journeyman.

He reached down to rip it off, hand shaking, and he screamed again as the suckers latched on. It stung, a deep sting that reached down to his bones and sent him tumbling down to his knees.

Another tentacle whipped out and wrapped around his other wrist, wrenching it away and keeping him from pulling the first one off. It left the same line of fire wrapping around his other arm, and both of them held his arms immobile at his sides. He couldn't tell where they were coming from, except that it was somewhere beyond the counter. Was there a door back there? A hole in the wall or floor? 

Something crunched outside. It sounded like a boot stepping on something that cracked and crumbled away beneath it, like a destroyed brick or one of those charred bones. Someone was out there.

"I saw someone come down here," someone said. There was an answering grunt. 

Guards. They must have been the guards who patrolled the nearer bits of the Old City and chased out treasure hunters, thieves, and unlicensed mages. They would arrest him, but a few days in jail or a day and night in the stocks wouldn't kill him.

"Here," he called out, voice thin and fearful. "I'm-- _mmmph_ \--"

One of the tentacles forced its way right into his open mouth, gagging him. It was as wide as his wrist, stretching his jaw too wide for him to bite down and try to dislodge it. And that wasn't even the worst part-- no, the worst part was that this one felt even slimier than the ones pinning his arms at his sides, so wet that he had to swallow to stop himself from choking on it.

It tasted as sickly sweet as it smelled, and Jay's gut roiled. The only mercy was that this one didn't sting him. The thought of a firebrand of pain inside his mouth was enough to make him fight again despite the agony it stirred under his skin.

Fighting hadn't worked, but what if he stayed still and let it do what it wanted with him? People who'd seen strange things in the Old City always came back, so it wasn't going to kill him any more than a short stint in jail would. He could let it poke and prod at him until it realized he wasn't... whatever it thought he was, and then he'd get away. Everything would be fine. He might have some odd burn marks on his arms, might never get the rotten-sweet taste of his out of his memory, but that would be all.

Even if he'd wanted to struggle more, something odd was happening. Suddenly he couldn't even try to bite down or push up with his tongue. His jaw and tongue and throat had gone slack, but not numb. He could feel every ridge and sucker on his lips and tongue and even in his throat.

It tickled something in the back of his throat, but instead of gagging he found himself swallowing around it without meaning to. That left it reaching deep down his throat while he took thin breaths through his nose and lay there trembling and unable to fight.

The bright, acrid rings of pain scattered around his arms had faded well beyond a dull throb. They felt... well, strange. They ached just enough to remind him they were there, but in a good way. It didn't make any sense.

His shirt ripped like paper as a tentacle pulled it apart, and once he was bare another tentacle snaked up around his chest.

He expected the stinging. What he didn't expect was for a sucker to hit his nipple, and definitely not for it to latch on tight as if it knew what it had found.

He would have screamed if he could. All he could manage was a gurgling attempt at a moan, even though it hurt so much. The burning felt deeper there, almost like something had pierced the skin-- like whatever venom it had was pumping into him. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes and threatened to fall, but he couldn't move his face enough to actually sob.

Once his pants hung off him in the same tatters his shirt did, more tentacles wound around his exposed skin. The burn of these wasn't quite so bad after the initial sting. Were they different, or had the earlier stings done their work and now they would all be that confusing, almost-good ache?

A sucker latched onto his other nipple and no, they wouldn't all ache. That was every bit as agonizing as the first, white-hot fire marking him like the guild's branding iron had when he'd been a child. He could feel tears rolling down his cheeks, but he still felt too limp to cry.

 _Please figure out that I'm not a threat, or one of your kind_ , he thought desperately, but then a third possibility occurred to him: what if it meant to eat him?

He struggled all over again, the thought of being rent apart and eaten, swallowed down by some awful, beaked octopus maw, giving him a new burst of energy. He managed to yank one of his legs away before the suckers could dig in, but then a fresh burst of slickness flooded his mouth. 

He had to swallow what didn't pour down his throat of its own accord lest he choke on it, his too-full throat spasming and clicking around the tentacle forcing it open.

His struggles died down into feeble squirms as his muscles went limp. He felt dizzy, so dizzy that he didn't notice the tentacles crawling up his legs until the rings of pain lit up his thighs, the sensitive insides of his knees, everywhere that had him questioning whether it felt good or it hurt.

 _No, no._ He couldn't say it, but Jay was screaming inside his own head when the slick top of one slipped up between his splayed legs. The thought of that searing pain on his cock was unthinkable.

What actually happened was worse.

It slipped past his cock, past his balls, and came to rest on his asshole. He couldn't pull away, couldn't squirm loose, couldn't even clench up. As soon as he clenched around the intrusion, more of the same slime that had stolen his control before allowed the tip of the tentacle to slip inside.

Jay had never done... well, anything before, but surely it wouldn't have felt this alien with someone's oiled fingers stretching him open. He felt the fluid dripping from the tentacle, and it curled and thrashed and pushed his fluttering hole open wider and wider as it inched its way inside. The burn there was different from the burns on his arms, more like the feeling in his jaw: the ache of a muscle stretched too far too long, not venom.

When it brushed against something inside of him that made his back arch and his cock jump to attention, Jay's silent litany of _no, no, no_ reached a fever pitch. Not only was he being fucked for the first time in his life by a monster, but it was going to make him enjoy the experience? He shouldn't have given up and assumed that he would walk away from whatever this would do to him just because everyone had. He should have fought harder, tried to make more noise to get the guards' attention.

Every time he thought that it was too much, that there was no way his body could take any more, more filled him up. Like the tentacle opening up his throat, this one didn't sting him. Instead it left him boneless and loose, its fluids trickling out around it despite how tightly it fit inside him.

Each thrust, each thrash, made his cock twitch. He'd never been this hard when he touched himself, but now precome welled up and smeared across his belly. Every press against that sensitive spot inside him brought him that much closer to climax. _No, not like this--_

He tried focusing on how much it hurt-- on the terrible soreness in his nipples, which still hurt more than anywhere else on his body. The awful heat had spread through his chest, radiating out from the needle-sharp pain where the suckers had pierced his skin. It was the one thing that his traitor body couldn't confuse with pleasure, no matter what the monster did.

It helped, kept him just below the precipice of orgasm. As long as he kept hurting too much to come, he would be all right.

Another tentacle circled around his cock, and he thrashed and choked when the suckers latched onto his balls. He'd never tried to scream so hard in his life, but his loose, full throat didn't listen to him. It hurt, it _hurt_ , they were piercing into him and filling him up there just like they had his nipples and it was a thousand times worse. He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't _see_.

*

He must have passed out; the next thing he knew, he was alone.

Everything ached, but not in the way he would have expected. He didn't really have words for the tingling, buzzing soreness everywhere the thing had slobbered all over him. His lips and asshole and the head of his cock felt hot and swollen-- but so did everywhere else.

His balls felt huge and heavy, even though they didn't look bigger. His nipples felt just as sore and did look visibly swollen, hard and dark. Reddish-purple bruises spotted his skin wherever the suckers had latched on, ring bruises in winding line patterns where the tentacles had wrapped around him.

He felt sick. What else was this thing going to do to him? What other marks would he carry out of here?

He took a deep breath and made himself touch one fingertip to his nipple. As soon as he did, he gasped and his cock twitched. It had hurt but the hurt felt _good_ , everything mixed up in his head. So good that he couldn't stop himself from pinching it.

Sensation arced up his spine like lightning, his back arched as he panted for breath and rolled his nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He couldn't stop, not until a sudden sharp ache and release of pressure startled him into dropping his hand down to his side.

His fingers came away wet, and before he realized what he was doing they were in his mouth. It tasted like the tentacle had in his mouth.

What the hell had this monster done to him? He had to find a way out of here before it came back. But not until he finished this, there was no way he could concentrate until he did. 

His other nipple still throbbed, and he stopped fucking his fingers into his mouth so he could pinch it between his saliva-slick finger and thumb. This time he knew to expect the pleasure and release, and he didn't stop until the spurt of fluid died down to a trickle and his hand was soaked from fingertips to wrist.

It looked like what the monster had forced him to swallow as much as it smelled and tasted like it: clear, slippery, just viscous enough to cling to his skin instead of immediately dripping away.

He brought his hand to his mouth and lapped it up. He had no idea why he was doing it-- he knew he should have been disgusted, but he couldn't stop himself. He kept licking, thankful that he could move his face and tongue again, until all he could taste was his own skin.

His cock was hard, his balls throbbing with their need to be touched like his nipples had. Jay reached down and took them in hand without a second thought, and as soon as he did he had no room in him for anything except how much he needed to come.

When he finally did, trembling all over with his yearning for it, it wasn't like it should have been. There was too much of it, spilling slippery and clear over his hand and onto the floor.

The air smelled as sick-sweet as it had when the monster touched him, and he knew what it would taste like. He brought his fingers to his mouth anyway, sucking the same sweetness from them that he had a few moments earlier.

He would find his way out as soon as he caught his breath and recovered, as soon as his legs felt like they would hold him up again.

*

He didn't regain his feet before the monster came back. Not that time, not the time after that. All of it ran together after awhile, the cycle of it fucking Jay until he passed out and Jay getting himself off until he couldn't think straight once he woke up.

 _This time I'll go,_ he said to himself every time, but this time was different. He was going to walk out the door before he jerked off, before he squeezed his balls in his hands or pressed three fingers into his still-slick hole to try and find that perfect, wonderful spot he couldn't quite reach. He could do that after he made it back out of the Old City.

Unfortunately, the monster also seemed to have ideas about how this time was different. The tentacle that fucked him open was wider than before, so big that Jay didn't know how his body was taking it without ripping wide open. He could see the unnatural bulge of it in his belly when he looked down, so big that the outline was visible on his skin.

Something even bigger pressed against his asshole, trying to make its way inside. There was no way, he couldn't take that. No matter how loose, how slick, how completely boneless this monster had left him, his body would only stretch so far.

"No, no, no--" he tried to protest, but with the tentacle fucking his throat again it came out a muffled _mmm, mmm, mmmph_ that sounded almost like he was urging it on. Was he? Sometimes he forgot to hate it, followed the tentacle with his mouth when it pulled away or lapped up the sweet, sticky mess it left on his skin or spread his legs wide without thinking about it.

The lump pressed harder against his rim, stretching him even further. It hurt the same way touching his cock hurt, a needy, oversensitive soreness that he couldn't keep his hands away from. Suddenly all he wanted to do was reach down and rub at his hole, feel where something was pushing into him.

That was impossible with him trussed up as he was; all he could do was squirm and take it. Whatever it was, it tapered wider and wider until it popped right past his rim and slipped inside. It felt huge, heavy and relentless inside of him.

He caught he breath and just barely managed not to come, but then there was another one. And another. They didn't stop, not even his belly felt full and tight and his hole couldn't manage more than a token flutter of protest.

 _Stop. I can't, you're killing me,_ he wanted to say. Would it even understand him if he could beg for his life?

When it finally did stop, he didn't know how he wasn't dead. Was this what it had been preparing him for, why his body felt looser every time it stung him or fucked him or spilled honeyed venom down his throat?

It left him filthy and panting on the floor, and he had no idea how much time passed as he lay there trying to gather his thoughts. He thought he'd fallen asleep, his only hint he'd awakened at all a vague recollection of a tentacle stroking his face and slipping into his mouth to feed him more honey. 

The longer he stayed here, the less sure he was of the passage of time.

The swell of his belly felt just as sensitive and strange as everywhere else the beast had ruined him, and when he eventually managed to sit up the shifting heaviness within him took his breath away. Rubbing at it brought the same sweet ache lurking under the rest of his skin, and whenever he didn't consciously think to stop himself Jay found his hands wandering over it in lazy circles.

He felt drunk. No, more than drunk-- like the time one of the journeymen had given him hashish. Everything was soft and vague, and he couldn't hold onto any but the simplest of thoughts. All he could manage was to writhe on the floor and stroke his monstrously swollen belly until he moaned and shivered and spilled himself all over his thighs.

The burned rings on his arms had healed over into a chain of pale pink scars. He knew that should mean something, that something was wrong-- had he been here longer than he knew?-- but that worry slipped away from him when the fullness in him began to shift. It wasn't like the faint movement he'd felt before, the resistance that took his breath away when he pressed down.

This was purposeful, his muscles relaxing as if someone had slackened their lines as the heaviness in him moved down. He leaned back against the wall, legs spread wide because doing anything else felt wrong in a way that crawled up the back of his neck and made him want to claw out of his own skin.

Something was wrenching him open, but from the inside this time. It was bigger than it had been going in, and he clawed at the wall and screamed.

Except he didn't scream. All that came put was a quiet little croon, soft and sweet like his throat had its own ideas about how he should feel. He could barely curl his hands up against the wall, let alone try to gouge his nails into it.

The tentacles came slithering back, and this time they wrapped around his arms and legs and lifted him up from the floor. It set him down again on his hands and knees, forcing his legs as far apart as they would go.

Spread wide, he had no leverage, no strength, no way to stop the solid weight pushing its way out of him. He felt filthy, dripping and wrenched open, and this time he did have enough command over his own face to cry.

As soon as he started sobbing, one of the tentacles prodded at his lips as if that would be some sort of comfort to him. Trying to keep it out of his mouth was beyond futile. He knew that, he did, but he couldn't not try.

It took only a single thrust against his closed lips for it to force his mouth open and slide over his tongue. Yet again he had to swallow down mouthful after mouthful of whatever it was that the monster forced upon him. The new wave of lassitude was all his body needed to release its hold, and he moaned around the tentacle as he stretched even wider-- until he wasn't.

When it hit the floor and rolled into his field of vision, he would have retched if he could have. It was an egg, round and opalescent and squirming of its own accord. The monster had bred with him, pumped him full of eggs that had to come out. That writhing heaviness in his belly that he'd stroked until he'd come-- that had been eggs. 

_He'd enjoyed breeding with this thing._ It hadn't been touching him when he'd done that. That had been all him.

He didn't fight the second egg. He wasn't sure if he wanted to, so it was almost comforting that the choice had been taken from him. His over-full belly swayed, saliva and honey trickled from the corner of his mouth, and he couldn't do anything but what the monster wanted from him.

It still hurt; the limits of his body still existed. But it felt good, too, the same way that spreading his legs had when he'd sat against the wall. The thought of doing anything else made his skin itch.

The monster wrapped a tentacle around his cock again, but this time the suckers didn't latch onto his balls. Instead of coiled up and stung the spot _behind_ them, just in front of where his rim stretched for the third egg.

The world exploded.

Everything went white as he jerked and spasmed, fighting and coming and silently screaming. He felt that thin, wrong come pouring out of him, splashing onto the floor and mingling with the monster's fluids. 

When he thought there couldn't be more, when he thought he had an instant to catch his breath, the egg pushed past the sensitive place inside him. Everything shattered all over again, and this time he didn't come back from it.

*

He woke up full, but that didn't make any sense-- the eggs had come out already, hadn't they? He'd been on his hands and knees in that puddle of slime, a tentacle fucking his throat while the others held him down. He'd been loose and open and trying to scream--

Now he was curled up on his side in an unfamiliar room. It was darker here, almost too dim to see, and he couldn't hear the muffled sounds of the market or smell the food stalls. All he could hear was that soft, wet slithering sound, all he could smell was sweetness.

The tentacle was still in his mouth, but not down his throat. Sweet slick drooled out past his slack lips, and he started suckling at it. It was nice, sucking on something-- not having anything teasing at his mouth made it feel overripe, aching and itchy and hot.

Another tentacle slithered over his chest, and he summoned the strength to lift a hand and coax it across his nipples. _Oh,_ \-- the pressure increased and there was a bright flash of pain, then nothing but relief as he leaked out around the suckers.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw why the sound and scent were stronger here. A writhing mass of tentacles spilled up out of a hole in the floor, some of them far larger than the ones he'd seen so far.

It was even harder to focus here than it had been before, the air so heavy and sticky and every mouthful of sweetness making him a little more pliable.

 _That's_ what was fogging his head. How had he not put it together before? Or had he realized it, but forgotten? He'd forgotten a lot since he'd come here. Like why he was here-- there had been a thing, hadn't there? He hadn't come to the Old City looking to be fucked and drunk and egg-heavy. Had he? He couldn't remember.

The tentacle in his mouth drew back, saliva and slime smearing over his cheek and neck as it did. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? He wanted it back, but he also wanted to remember whether he was supposed to be here or not. It felt important.

What replaced it felt different from the other tentacles: stiffer, the skin less supple. It was just as wide, though, and the girth stretching his mouth open distracted him from trying to remember what stupid, wrong-headed reason he'd come here in the first place. He had more urgent things to worry about, like the fact that the stiffer tentacle meant he could bob his head up and down instead of waiting for it to thrust.

It didn't try to shove down into his throat this time. Instead it stayed still, as if waiting to see what he would do. As if there were anything he would do besides suck; the more he moved, the more sweetness he could swallow down. He needed it, needed as much of it as he could get. Not even the now familiar sensation of eggs shifting in him could distract him.

One of the tentacles prodded at his asshole, not quite opening him up, but that was enough to encourage the first egg to slip out. It was easy this time, slick and open and so good that he came when the second egg pushed past his rim. And came again and again, climax taking his breath away and chasing away his thoughts every time they wandered back towards... whatever he'd been thinking about. He couldn't remember, not with lightning arcing up his spine and every part of him hurting so beautifully he couldn't comprehend anything else.

He passed out before it finished, everything blurring and going black as the monster and its eggs wrung one last shuddering, pained orgasm out of him.

*

He felt so empty when he woke up, so alone, that he wanted to scream. Not that he could, or do anything besides groan and twitch a little; screaming was too much effort. Anything besides lying here and waiting for fulfillment was too much work.

He wasn't in the dark, warm room with the bulk of the creature in it anymore, but he needed to be. He needed those tentacles wrapping around him and leaving stinging sucker marks in their wake, he needed something in his mouth, he needed to be fucked full and egg-heavy until he could roll over onto his hands and knees and--

He shoved three fingers in his mouth, his other hand already working his swollen, aching balls. It didn't take much to make him come with a moan, warm and sticky all over his belly and thighs. That helped a little; it didn't smell wrong in here anymore.

"Did you hear something?" Someone asked from nearby, and it was loud and jarring and made him curl up with his arms over his head.

If they found him, they would take him away-- he'd be empty forever, empty and cold and purposeless. So he quieted himself, didn't moan or whine or sob, didn't even breathe too loudly.

"You're hearing things. Come on, I think I see some windows that aren't broken over there."

He remembered that building, windows pristine and door intact amidst the looted shops. It had creaked open but shut behind him, and that was when everything had turned warm and sweet and full.

Eventually their footsteps receded, but he still stayed quiet until he heard terrified shouting in the distance. He'd shrieked something like that once, too; he remembered doing it, but not why. Not that it mattered-- he'd done a lot of stupid things before. People were always telling him that.

He'd learned better, and stayed where he was until a tendril snaked out from a crack in the wall and stroked the side of his face. The solid, wet heat of it made his mouth water, and he opened up for his reward with a grateful sigh.

The hand that wasn't on the thick length to keep it there, to urge it as far into his mouth as possible, stayed on his limp, oversensitive cock. He needed the weight of his hands on his swollen balls, to milk them until he was spent and dry while he could still reach them.

Maybe one of those people outside wouldn't be stupid, would be willing to put hands and mouth on him and squeeze and suck away the aching pressure pooling in him. He'd been good, he'd earned it just like he'd earned the blunt, wide cockhead that was opening him up wide and leaving no room in his head for anything but how good he felt. If they were good, too, maybe he could do the same for them.

He closed his eyes and stopped thinking at all when he felt the swell of the first egg push past his rim. Only empty people had thoughts, and he needed that space inside him for more important things.


End file.
